


On Repeat

by JumanjiiCostco



Series: Tumblr Prompts (CR) [4]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Caleb Widogast Needs a Hug, Scars, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-14 20:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17515241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JumanjiiCostco/pseuds/JumanjiiCostco
Summary: "What happened to your hands?"Caleb freezes, hands still shaking a violent staccato against his legs, looks at the bandages wrapped tight around them.





	On Repeat

** “What happened to your hands?”  **

Caleb freezes, hands still shaking a violent staccato against his legs, looks at the bandaging wrapped tight around them. (It’s fraying. It’s blood-stained and deeply charred. He’ll need to change it soon. Need to find clean cloth and–) 

Jester is soft, she’s always so soft, as she steps forward and leans into his space. She stops when he freezes, gives him a pressing but questioning look.  _Is this okay?_ And he doesn’t know. Is it? No. Should he be running? A stiff nod. 

“What happened?”   


That question, again. He swallows hard, looks from her to his hands, from his hands to her. Back and forth and back and forth until the world is just a blur in the corners of his eyes. It’s the cool press her of palm against his shoulder that stops him. The flame racing in his veins, burning him alive, cools and spits like a dying campfire. His hands keep shaking. 

“Caleb do you need some healing?”   


He chokes on the question, and a frenzied laugh takes the place of air. Loud and long and disruptive, it fills up his ribcage and bubbles from his lips until he can’t contain it. Jester doesn’t even flinch. The sadness in her eyes opens up like a whirlpool and he’s plunged into the depths and for all of a moment, they’re standing there, just looking at each other. Just existing. Just knowing. Knowing, knowing, knowing. 

He laughs again, a little quieter this time. No gentler, but quieter. It rattles in his ribcage, shakes his bones. Tearing his eyes away from her, he swallows hard again, runs his shaking hands through his hair. It pulls taught to his head, tugging at the roots, a biting sharp pain that anchors him to the moment. 

Jester stays still, hand still pressed into the spot where his collarbone meets his shoulder. “Caleb?” 

“Ja. Ja, I need…” What? Healing? Understanding? A break? Shaking fingers slip into his sleeve, tug sloppily at the fraying end of his bandage. It’s painstaking, precise, as he unwraps his arm. Spidery veins of faded pinks and reds wind their way up the flesh from his palms to his elbows. 

She tries to contain it, muffle it with her self-restraint, with the weight of her compassion. But it doesn’t work, not totally, and her fingers bite into the muscles of his shoulder. “ _Caleb_.” 

“Ja.” They’re repeating themselves, cycling through through the same words. What else is there to say? “Ja. I know. It’s–” Indescribable. Tragic. Despicable. He could have healed them away–in fact, a few tried–but that defeated the point of scars, didn’t it? They were a reminder of where you’d been. Of  _who_ you’d been. 

For a moment, she says nothing. For a moment, she just lets him do this. Lets him be this. And then she doesn’t. She takes the wrap from his hand and begins at his palm. If Caleb was painstaking, she is meticulous, rewrapping every inch of his arm until there is nothing left to see. 

“Astrid wouldn’t want you to be sad, Caleb.” A beat of quiet, Jester’s brow furrowed in thought. “ _We_ don’t want you to be sad. But we know that you are, sometimes–well, a lot of times–and we love you anyway. You know that, right?” 

He cringes, just a little, pulling in on himself. Retreating into his shell. But she still has his hand; she’s not letting go. Images of Jester and Astrid overlay on top of each other, blurring the edges of his reality until it’s just a fuzzy idea. “I’d like to be alone, please.” 

She’s too blurred for Caleb to notice the hurt flash through her eyes. She’s a child, an empath, a blunt instrument of torture, punching all the right spots at all the wrong times. She’s  _trying_. But his eyes are too hazy with smoke to see her cry. 

His hands still shake. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @jumanjiicostco for more general CR tom-foolery, meta, and fics!


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